


An Island Before You Came Along

by ProfessorDrarry



Series: Drarry One Shot [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Song Lyrics, The Author Regrets Nothing, Veela Harry Potter, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13869399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: I was a fighter, and I was so brave. But I lowered my sword when you held me and swore You'd stay, stay, stay oh. Somehow, Draco has ended up on this front stoop; he doesn't know what to do next, but the person behind the door is definitely going to be involved. And frankly, he doesn't know how to feel about that.





	An Island Before You Came Along

**Author's Note:**

> A response to Emerald-Fire-3510's Tumblr prompt with Veela!Harry. I have made certain...decisions about Veela. It's easier if you just take them on fully and go from there ;) It is it's own fic because a 2k drabble seemed a little excessive.

 

The sky was not threatening or bleak. There was no real chance of rain. It wasn't sunny, either, though.  It was the sort of weather Draco hated; it was neutral. Draco hated  _ anything  _ neutral. It was the absence of trying. It was excuses, and the choice to not choose. He had had enough of those things to last him five lifetimes. 

Grey skies. Whitewashed walls. Cream sweaters. Elevator music and posters in doctor’s offices. He hated them all. What was the point of anything if you couldn’t feel any certain way about it? 

Most importantly, he hated that the weather was in perfect harmony with his life at this moment. He was standing here right now, outside a house he didn't really recognise, having not consciously chosen to come here. He knew exactly why he was here, but he couldn't have explained it had his magic depended on it. 

You didn't articulate phrases like a  _ tingle in the spine  _ or  _ a tug in the stomach  _ or  _ I just followed the sense of warmth until I ended up here and felt suffused in comfort.  _ You didn’t say those things out loud if you didn’t want to be put in a bouncy room with guards 24/7. 

He sat down on the stoop outside the building and scowled up at the nondescript sky, begging it to just make up its damned mind. He felt ill from restless indecision, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that rain would fix it all.

He pulled out his phone and checked for new messages. There were, as usual, none. Regardless, he was not under any circumstances ringing  _ that  _ doorbell. Nor was he going to be able to leave. Which put him in quite a difficult position, one he couldn’t really solve. He decided he was just going to wait the feeling out. 

He jumped internally when the door behind him flung open. He used carefully trained reflexes to calm himself and not flail like an idiot. 

“What are you doing here?” a voice behind him growled. 

“We both know the answer to that,” Draco replied.

“Look, just go away, okay! I don’t need — I don’t need —“ 

“Anyone?” Draco interjected. “Or me? Which is it, Harry?” 

Draco stood up and turned to face Harry, only to find that the door was still closed. 

“Seriously?” Draco deadpanned. “Sonorous? Open the bloody door, Potter.” 

“N-n,” came the unsteady reply. “You can’t see. I...I don’t want anyone to see.” 

Draco sighed and scrubbed at his hair. He had never, in all his life, been so discombobulated. He was itchy all over and his head hurt. He wanted to tear at his clothes and at the same time write sonnets and songs and eat every one of his favourite foods while dancing. It was disorienting and exhausting, and they were going to get nowhere if Potter wouldn’t even open the fucking door. 

“You know we don’t really have a choice here, right?” Draco said, leaning his forehead against the cool wood frame and shoving a hand through the letterbox. He was  _ not  _ going to stoop to the level of Potter and amplify his voice to be heard. It was beneath them, petty and stupid. They needed to stand up and deal with this problem. Like men. 

Well. 

Like something. 

“Please just tell me you’ve at least been following Granger’s instructions?” Draco said, calmer again now that he’d decided to be the rational one. 

“Well, of  _ course _ I haven’t!” Harry shouted. “If you knew me at all you’d know I haven’t! I never do!” 

“Potter, look, I’m...well, I was going to say sorry, but it’s absolutely not my fault and I do not apologise for things I haven’t done.” 

“So what,” Potter said angrily. “You’re blaming me?” 

“Is there someone else I am to blame?” Draco questioned, genuinely confused. 

Suddenly the door whipped open with shuddering force, and Draco was faced with Harry. Harry in all his glory; shirtless with golden skin, a faint line of hair trailing down to the grey sweats that hung low on his hips. Nipples dark against muscled pecs, arms that betrayed how much time the Quidditch coach spent working out just to keep busy and moving. Draco knew that feeling, but he spent the energy playing cello instead. He had clearly been making the wrong choice. Draco couldn’t say if he’d have been  _ this _ attracted to a shirtless Potter the week before. It didn’t matter because the current discomfort he was feeling in his restrictive jeans made it clear that he felt that way now. 

All of these things would have been enough to embarrass him fully, but he forgot how to feel embarrassed when he locked eyes on the latest addition to Harry’s physique. 

“Would you stop staring,” Harry grimaced, teeth grinding together and mouth barely open. “It’s bad enough they are there without you watching them like some sort of… some sort of…

“Hungry, lustful menace?” Draco blurted, immediately regretting it. He wasn’t to be blamed, though. It was hard to think right, in this moment, with unbidden images of Harry through the years flooding his brain, as though Draco had always been noticing the idiot. He'd never seen him like this, though. 

No one had ever seen him like this. 

They were beautiful. Easily seven feet from tip to top, blacker than any darkness Draco had ever experienced, soft and veined, shivering slightly in the breeze created by the open door. They were folded, rounded at the edges, and papery at the parts where the membrane met accordion-like grooves.

Draco gulped, realising he was staring at the wings again. 

“Just go, Malfoy,” Harry insisted. “This is just my fucking life, isn’t it. There aren’t even supposed to  _ be  _ male Veela!” 

“Well, that’s not entirely true. In the Slavic tradition—“ 

“Oh MERLIN, shut  _ up _ . You sound just like Hermione!” 

Draco sighed as he fell silent, still desperately trying to stop staring at Harry. It was no use. Anytime he looked away, trained his eyes on the space inside the entryway or on the door frame, his eyelids burned and ached, demanding he turn his attention back to the beautiful, velvety folds. He  _ needed  _ to touch them, needed to feel them stretch out fully, their powerful grace wrap around him, their soft, silken membranes hot against his — 

He shook his head. It really wasn’t the time. 

He made sure his voice was careful, controlled, and when he spoke again, he felt Harry’s eyes snap to his. 

“I was just at home, trying to remember what I was supposed to be doing today. And I couldn’t. Because I can’t seem to focus on anything for  _ any  _ period of time whatsoever —“ 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said angrily, trying to interrupt. 

Draco just rolled his eyes and continued. “And you know exactly why that is, don’t you?” 

Harry glared. 

“Now look, Harry. What happened was… unfortunate. I’m not exactly happy about it either, you know. But now we have to deal with it—“ 

“Draco. I said. Shut. Up,” Harry hissed, his eyes narrowing and transforming his expression. It turned dark and garish, like something from a childhood nightmare. Draco watched as wings stretched out slightly, as a face elongated almost imperceptibly, as hair stood on end.

It should have been repulsive and terrifying, but Draco found himself licking his lips instead. He couldn’t do it anymore; he couldn’t stand within inches of his mate and not just reach out and do something about it. 

His mind froze in a panic. 

_ Mate. _

It was the first time he’d even considered thinking the word, but suddenly it felt exactly like everything was perfectly aligned; the itch on his skin settled, his stomach stopped rolling. The dim light in the sky seemed brighter. He relaxed. He realised he'd probably known for days. 

“Let me in,” he murmured to Harry, who had now folded his arms across his stomach in an angry, defiant way, accentuating his pecs, and making Draco’s mouth water. 

“What?” Harry hissed, gaping as his arms fell. “No! Don't be ridiculous. Fuck off!” 

Draco cleared his throat, feeling himself choking up and rasping,“Let me in.”

“Malfoy — Draco. You need to leave. Right now,” Harry said, his voice sounding less sure this time. 

“Harry,” Draco whined, advancing on the door, focused now on where the tips of Harry’s wings met the ground, finding that even the bare feet in front of him made Draco want to whimper. “Let me in."

“I — you don’t want to be here. It’s like… the compulsion, or whatever. It’s just because you saw me the other day,” Harry whined, sounding desperate now, nervous. 

“So?” Draco countered. “Let me in.” 

“Draco—“

“Your wings will fold away after. No one else will be able to see them,” Draco simpered. “Just let me…” 

Draco had advanced enough now that he was standing on the boundary between inside and outside, and his heart was pounding in excited pain. He reached out just as Harry took a step back, but he managed to just barely grasp the waistband of Harry’s trousers, stretching the pliant material toward him, and making Harry whine again. 

“Draco, stop. It’s not. It’s a bad… I am not in control,” Harry begged, voice tight and trembling. 

“So what,” Draco repeated, stepping up to Harry and reaching above his head to feel the wing that was now within his grasp; the velveteen warmth he found made him shudder against Harry’s body. It wasn’t leathery, as it appeared, it was soft and delicate. Harry shivered beneath him, preening into the touch. 

“I know you’ve been uncomfortable,” Draco whispered in his ear. “Let me stay. I can help. Please, let me stay. I know what I’m doing, I promise.” 

“I can’t. I might hurt you,” Harry whispered back, leaning into Draco’s body despite his words. 

“It’s okay,” Draco said gently, pulling Harry firmly into him. “I can take it.” 

Harry's breath hitched his chest hitting Draco's at an awkward angle from the sudden inhalation. 

“Okay,” Harry finally said. “Okay, stay.” 

The move towards his mouth took Draco by surprise, though he could have sworn he’d been waiting for the moment since accidentally crossing paths with the newly formed Veela Harry the week before.

There was no preparing for this, he saw now; to say ‘fire’ or ‘heat’ would be pointless. Nothing had ever been the temperature, the emotion, the fear behind this kiss. Nothing had ever been the softness, the perfection, the comfort of this kiss. 

Slowly, but slowly, Harry dragged them backwards. 

Before they had even left the entryway, warm depth had engulfed them both; wide, soft darkness took over every corner of Draco’s vision, and he nearly came right then. Harry’s wings had unfurled as they kissed. They had wrapped themselves around Draco’s back, tightly ensuring he could not leave. 

“Harry-y,” Draco moaned gently, pulling back from Harry. “Harry, it’s okay. I’m not going to go anywhere. It’s okay. I’m here now.”   
  



End file.
